Intelligent Confusion
by fancyfantasyfairy
Summary: Frodo is seeing dead plants. What do they do to help him? Burn down the Inn of the Prancing Pony of course! However, not all are happy about this solution...
1. BaBoom!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: Read this in a most cheerful tone.

Warning!!: The characters names change slowly.  I suggest writing them down.

Intelligent Confusion

T'was the night before Frodo left for the Grey Havens (which he hadn't told his hobbity friends about in order to save it as a joyful surprise in the morning) and he, Sam, Merry, and Pippin were having a blissfully happy sleepover. They had rented a room together in the Prancing Pony, seeing that it had been exactly one year since they had been there. The hobbits sang, chuckled, and laughed on the bouncy mattresses and fluffy feather pillows. They had just recovered from a particularly funny joke when, simultaneously, all four took a long swig off ale. Silence lapsed, and suddenly a serious mood over took them.

Frovo lowered his mug first. A most frightening insane look shaped his face as he prepared to confide in his friends something that had been more than bothering him the last month or so. Som, Merty, and Pippen lowered their mugs also, sensing the stiffened air. They looked warily at Frovo.

Frovo opened his mouth to finally voice what had been troubling him. However, nothing came out. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and tried again.

"I...I," well, that was a start. Let's try again. "I see... I see dead-"

"People?" Pippen suggested.

"I see dead people," Harry Potter supplied casually. He was having trouble fitting his lean lody lhrough lhe lery lall lindow (body through the very tall window). He finally pulled his foot over the sill of the six foot high window. Harky tried to stand up fully, but he collided with the four foot high selling. Harky langed lis lead lnd lell lonveniently lnto l hobbity lhair (banged his head and fell conveniently onto a hobitty chair). The collision thankfully hadn't affected him as stars and snitches twirled around his head.

"I see dead people," Harky repeated. "I see them all the time. There's this one, Nick. He's nearly headless. So we call him Nearly Headless Nick. But anyway, you don't want to hear about that. He goes on and on about it. Well, yes, back on subject. We were having a very interesting conversation one day..."

"What do you see?" Som directed towards Frovo. He had chosen to ignore Harky's rambling.

"Plants." Frove had broken into a cold sweat. "I see dead plants. But they don't know they're dead." Frove hugged his knees to his chest and started to rock back and forth.

"Plants," Pipven repeated. "How can you see dead plants?"

"You can't see dead plants!" Somh said

"It's impossible!" Pipven concluded.

"Do you weigh the same as a duck?" asked Merty.

"What?" asked Jack Sparrow. He was confused.

"Does he weigh the same as a duck?" Metty was prepared to lay this out step by step.

"Why does he have to weigh the same as a duck?" Will Turner was confused also.

By now, Freve had passed out on the floor. Nobody had noticed. They were all listening to Motty. Harky, however, wasn't listening. He was too lusy lambling ln lbout learly leadless lick (busy rambling on about Nearly Headless Nick).

"Well," said Motty, "what do ducks and wood have in common?"

"They both float?" Will suggested.

"They're both yellow?" Papven suggested.

Huh?

"We... we," Somh was getting it. "We kill them both?"

"Yes!" Mcotty said. "And if the wood is dead and we kill the duck and he weighs the same as a duck then..."

"He's a muggle!" Jact concluded.

Not exactly.

"He's a witch!" Sosh said.

Fteve twitched.

"He can see dead plants!" Paven got it.

"Exactly!" said Mcott.

"How do we know if he weighs the same as a duck?" Jact asked.

"I was telling Nick the other day," said Harky (who was still talking to himself). "There was this boy with curly hair weighing himself in comparison to a duck! The poor thing weighed the same. I think that's a bad thing. I just don't know why..."

Everyone stared at Harky as he did what appeared to be some very hard thinking. Fteve even became conscious to stare. After what seemed to be about five long drawn out seconds, Hark was still puzzled.

"I just don't know why," he finally said.

Fteve passed out again.

"So, what do we do now?" asked Jact.

"I dunno," Paven said.

"We could kill a duck?" Sosh suggested.

NOOOOOOOOO!

"We see if wood floats?" asked Will.

"We see if very small rocks float?" Jatt asked.

"We could wake him up," Pave said, seeing Fteve lying unconscious on the floor.

"I'm awake!" Steve sprung up. "There are dead plants among us!" he hid in a corner.

"But what do we do?" Josh repeated.

"We burn wood!" Matt said.

"Precisely," Scott congratulated Josh.

"To make the dead plants go away!" Dave got it.

"Can Nick come?" asked Mark. He looked eagerly out the window. Nick was expected lo lrrive lround low (to arrive around now).

"Of course!" said Will.

So Steve, Matt Josh, Scott, Dave, Mark and Will burned down the Inn of the Prancing Pony as Nick watched because he couldn't help because he is a ghost and everything he tried to pick up would go right through him. As they sat, toasting fluffity puffity marshmallows in front of the fire, the ponies pranced away. No animals were harmed in the making of this production.

A/N: For those of you oh so very confused, this might clear things up.

Frodo/Steve: Frove, Frove, Freve, Fteve, Steve   
Sam/Josh: Som, Somh, Sosh, Josh   
Merry/Scott:  Merty, Metty, Mcotty, Mcott, Scott   
Pippin/Dave:  Pippen, Pipven, Papven, Paven, Pave, Dave   
Harry/Mark: Harky, Hark, Mark   
Jack/Matt: Jact, Jatt, Matt   
Will: Will (didn't need to change because I didn't feel like it)

Hope you liked it!


	2. Ooga Booga

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Again, I own nothing.

a/n: This fic is mainly Lord of the Rings, but it includes little bits from Home Star, Phantom of the Opera, Pirates of the Caribbean, Black Beauty, Wizard of Oz, Shrek, Little Red Riding Hood, The Very Secret Diaries, Harry Potter, Potter Puppet Palls, and the song To Grandmother's House We Go. You do not need to know all of these to understand the story. I did not feel like changing the character's names this time. At the end, I have what they would have been.

If you are confused, then laugh and be joyful.

* * *

"The Inn of the Prancing Pony burned?" gasped Galadriel, hair swaying this way and that. "What evil could have done this?"

In a non-Gandalf-ish way, she leapt onto her white horse, which was not Shadowfax, and pranced to the Inn. It was indeed burned. Half-eaten marshmallows and pointed sticks laid scattered about. The marshmallows were no longer fluffity puffity. Chaos, which had fled with the downfall of Suron and the ring, had returned.

Galadriel's eyes widened as she focused on an invisible object off in the distance. She must alert Arwen and Ewen. The message would be sent telepathically…

* * *

Arwen and Ewen sat in Arwen's bedroom. It was a rather large bedroom, and they were sitting in large, fluffity, puffity armchairs, ivory in color. Very large painted flowers decorated the walls. Actually, very large rivers and streams were on the walls, which had a bed but never slept, according to the latest Popsicle Stick of Galadriel.

They were frightening streams, really. When looking at them, one might think that the water might jump out at them, and then they would drown a most horrible death in a bedroom without a single drop of water…

Arwen and Eowyn sat in this terrifying room while having a very depressing conversation over a blissful glass of water.

When Galadriel's message came, it was not through a popsicle stick, but her voice filled the room. The women jumped at the sudden sound, thinking it was the water beginning to rush towards them. Realizing they were still alive, they relaxed.

"I am your angel of music!" Galadriel sang, perfectly imitating the Phantom of the Opera. "Come to the angle of music!" she snickered. "Just kidding," she said as Arwen and Eowyn began walking towards mirrors only there inside their hearts.

"On a more serious note," she shrieked, "the Inn of the Prancing Pony has been burned!"

"Oh no! What should we do?" Arwen and Eowyn bounced, letting their arms swing at their sides.

"I shall go to the bottom of my order. She is neither wise nor kind."

* * *

Galadriel suddenly came aware of her surroundings. She pulled her horse's head up and pranced away from the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Most definitely not looking like Gandalf, she galloped down the yellow brick road, knocking down Dorothy, running over Toto, scarring the Loin, kicking the Tin Man, and accidentally letting her horse (which was not Shadowfax) eat the Scarecrow. Galadriel galloped over the hills and through the woods, past Grandmother's house, Little Red Riding Hood, Fiona looking for Shrek, into the wrong movie, and out into the right book. She tied up her horse outside Hogwarts and hid in the closet of the Gryffindor girl's dormitories, waiting for her Q.

* * *

Hermione sat alone in the Gryffindor girl's dormitories trying to write a creative paper for her creative writing papers class. It was a rather strange class to be held at Hogwarts, School of Which Craft and or Wizardry (pitiful pun intended—as well as slight alliteration), seeing that this class required no magic, which craft, or wizardry. The waste bin had a significantly larger waist, and was refusing to eat anything else. Chewed, beaten, cut, smashed, mangled, burnt, ripped, crumpled, and stepped on papers lay on and around it. The bin blew a particularly small ripped shred out of its nonexistent face. Inspiration, which hovered just out of reach out the window, suddenly flew back to Hermione. She could write about how many ways to completely destroy a piece of paper!

However, for the sake of the story, inspiration flew away again. Hermione chased it to the window, arms flailing this way and that, trying to recapture a very stubborn inspiration. It finally weaved itself out the window (Hermione almost fell out in pursuit) and flew away, laughing and eventually gagging and choking into the suddenly not so pretty sunset.

"Galadriel!" Hermione shrieked, coming to sit back at her desk.

Galadriel stepped out of the closet, just to the left if Hermione.

"There are monsters in your closet," she informed. Hermione looked at Galadriel and blinked, delaying what she was going to say for effect.

"No comment."

"What!" Galadriel began to blow herself up like when Froooooooodoooooooooo offered her the ring. (Boromir, give the ring to Froooooooooodoooooooo.)

"Let me look in your mirror," Hermione interrupted. She hoped to see to where her inspiration had flown off.

"You wish to look into the mirror of Galadriel?" she said, regaining her composure. "Say it."

"No, you're an idiot," Hermione said.

"You must say it if you wish to g_a_ze into the mirror of Galadriel."

"No."

"Yes!" Galadriel started to blow herself up again.

"_Fine_. What will I see?" Hermione rubbed her fingers over her forehead, annoyed.

"Even the wisest cannot tell," Galadriel said smugly. "Things that were, things that are, and some things… that have not yet come to pass." She giggled, and I never want to see her giggle ever again.

"Ok, you may look," she said in all seriousness. Galadriel waited for Hermione to gaze. Hermione waited for Galadriel to take the mirror out.

"Hurry up," demanded Hermione. "This is getting boring."

Galadriel snapped her fingers and the mirror appeared. She felt completely deflated. Her attempted humor had failed miserably.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Hermione, looking into the mirror. "The Inn of the Prancing Pony is burned!"

"Yes, yes, we know that one. Anything else?"

"My inspiration is burned along with it. It flew into the building right before they set it on fire."

Hermione broke into sobs. She would fail her creative writing papers class. She would never get a good job, never make a good living, never have a family, and would have to wallow in the streets in total self-misery. Nothing could be done. Her inspiration was utterly destroyed.

Galadriel watched as Hermione's limp body became rigid, her sobs fading. Hermione clenched her fists and her head snapped up. Fire was in her eyes.

"BURN," she yelled. "DESTROY!"

"As you wish, my lady," Galadriel said loyally.

Galadriel raced out of the castle and onto her horse, which was not Shadowfax. For Mark—or Harry Potter's pleasure, and his pleasure alone (and possibly Hermione's), Galadriel accidentally intentionally killed everyone through the woods, over the hills, and on the Yellow Brick Road. Hermione flew behind her, and became the new and improved Wicked Witch of the West. Galadriel telepathically reached Arwen and Eowyn, and told them to go to what once was the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Those who recently died, do to some people's twisted minds, traveled there also. However, not all came because they did not feel like it.

Hermione, Galadriel, Arwen, Eowyn, Dorothy, Fiona, Grandma, and Little Red Riding Hood all gathered around the already demolished Inn of the Prancing Pony. They burned the Inn of the Prancing Pony again because not all of the wood had been burnt the first time, and even though not all of it could be burnt again because most of it was already burnt, they did it anyway. The horse, which was not Shadowfax, pranced away.

The End For Now

a/n: Here is what the names would have changed to:

Galadriel: Hannah  
Hermione: Geanine  
Arwen: Vicky  
Eowyn: Gwen  
Dorothy: Mikayla  
Fiona: Kim  
Little Red Riding Good: Mary  
Grandma: Stephanie

Me loooooooooove reviews!...


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